As the mists of meditation cleared, Krishnapriya found herself standing on the edge of a crystalline lake. The air felt heavy with the scent of damp earth and ancient wood. There, beneath the sprawling, protective canopy of a banyan tree, sat Aryavardhan. He looked exactly as she remembered, yet younger—settled in a deep, immovable Padmasana. Seeing him, a surge of desperate joy rose in Krishnapriya. She ran toward him, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, to feel the warmth of a living person. But her fingers passed through him like smoke through a curtain. She tried to scream